i have been wandering around this house in which i live for the past 24 hours, trying to write a post in my head, not knowing how to put into words the broken record that has been playing there over and over and over again. i'm sick of hearing the inner dialog circling 'round my mind, and can imagine how very tired you must al be of what i have to say. this feels like a whirlpool that doesn't want to end. for months - two of them, two long drawn out months - we've woken every day feeling that it would be daddy's last. the day passes, a balance of muted and jangly, and the day somehow manages to draw to an end once again. then in the morning we get up and do everything all over again. after being in alabama for three weeks and two days, i forced myself to load an overstuffed car, after saying an extremely difficult and tearful goodbye to daddy, and drove the six long hours back to the mountains of north carolina. as i rounded a curve on firefly road just before dusk, a hawk flew directly at eye level across my path in front of the car, clutching a dangling rabbit. what, i thought, could that possibly mean? a minute later, when i finally got out of that overloaded car and walked up to the front door with the first load of bags, i stopped short: the screen door was closed, but the wooden one was wide open to the rest of the world. briefly, stupidly, i thought that someone with a key must have been kind enough to come and open the house, to bring in fresh air for my arrival. i walked inside, looked over to the sliding glass door that was now removed from its tracks and propped against the antique pedestal that stands there in its light. oh, noooo, i slowly wailed. my eyes swept over - deja vu - to the table that holds my flat screen tv, and noted that the tv - the one i'd purchased after the first - FIRST - robbery, back in late september of 2009 - was now gone. in its place was dust, and random stacks of dvds. in the bedroom, drawers were open, and the contents of tin boxes and small wooden chests of drawers were tossed onto the bed. well, i finally thought, at least there is no shattered glass to sweep up and throw away (glass that still surfaces from under the sofa, from the fringe of the rug); at least the mess was kept to a minimum.
i cannot stand this.
no one should have to suffer a violation like this twice in eighteen months' time.
NO ONE.
i have two very compassionate neighbors who were in touch with me, who responded to my frightened phone calls immediately with concern, with phone calls and visits and follow up phone calls the next morning. this helps so much. thank goodness for those who show do compassion when i am frightened on top of sad.
anyway.
around noon yesterday, seventeen hours after i walked through the open door, mama called with the news that daddy had suffered yet another setback, with an inability to clearly speak, with deepening weakness and signs of life fading from his beautiful eyes. he is sleeping most of the day and night; morphine is being administered. surely this beloved member of our little family can't be forced to suffer anymore, but we've thought that for over two months.
i had to come home on friday, as much as i wanted to stay; my departure had already been postponed three different times. but this place no longer feels like home. it feels like a glass fish bowl sitting up on this hill, in broad view of whichever bad person out there wants to walk back in through broken doors and take things that are not his or hers. it does not feel safe, in the least. and it certainly doesn't feel like it is mine. i'm walking a shaky tightrope between here and there, wanting to be with my family, with a disappearing daddy and an exhausted mother, but wanting to be where i can feel completely at ease and at home. the lawn mower is refusing to start, and i noticed yesterday that the gasoline can my best friend julie filled with gas for me is now missing from the carport, taken - i am sure - by the thief that crossed through these two doors. nothing feels safe - not life, not a house that no longer feels like home. the sliding door has been set back into its track, thanks to my sweetheart of a neighbor, dave (remember him from thanksgiving; his heart is huge, and dear), who came and sat with me until ten pm friday night, simply to be here with me so i could get settled in relative calm. but the lock no longer works. who knows when it will be repaired. come on in, anyone who wants to plunder while i am gone again next week; be my guest. come on in and rifle through my things and see if there is something that might suit you, something that can be pawned for money, something that can be used to fill your pockets with things that you think you may need. drugs? surely, drugs. i can't think of whatever else would motivate someone to violate another's simple need for quiet privacy.
i don't know where i will be going next. i'm scheduled to drive the seven long and lonely hours across this state to wilmington, for roy's pending graduation; but i may, before that, be driving straight back down the six hours to alabama, should daddy finally pass away before then. that seems likely, at this point. work desperately needs to be done, including workshop proposals with deadlines of may 31. jewelry waits to be designed, letters need to be written, phone calls returned. i can't seem to find the time or the clarity to handle a single one of these things. the to-do list grows longer, yet here i sit, infusing typed words with emotions that are anything but positive. i'm angry, sad, confused, frustrated, heartbroken. mix that with feeling immensely proud of my sons and of what they have accomplished all on their own, and perhaps the concoction is one that will go down without a fuss.
i cannot lie. my strongest feature is the fact that i wear my crazy heart right on my sleeve; it is, as i said, my strongest trait, but not always my best. no one ever has to wonder what happens to be on my mind, or the mood i am allowing to saturate me through and through. if i were wise and not quite so raw, i'd delete this entire post. i could, instead, show you pretty pictures here; i could write about the way that the trees have fully flushed out into a riot of green in my absence, i could tell you at length how i long to hear the first woodthrush song of the season. i could scramble to write more frequent posts to keep your interest going, i could tell you of nothing and everything. but the motivation to do so is weak, the timing not its best. i think at jumbled times like this of those very successful bloggers who talk at length about their work (and talk and talk and talk), and i recall reading - in the latest new yorker issue, no less - of one who will be having a movie made about her new ranching mom life with reese witherspoon in the leading role. i read of those bright young bloggers who have heavily licensed their work into prints and laptop/phone skin designs, whose work is now printed into thousands of the same familiar images over and over and over again, sold in malls and shops across the globe. more power to them, i have to say, but also there is the nagging question, what am i doing with this straggling life of mine, i ask myself, just what the hell am i DOING with this upside down and inside out mess of a life i haphazardly live? i could be like that, ever striving to further my livelihood and career, to climb to the top with my business and my art; but i am hardly a driven person, i never have been. i tinker in the quiet that surrounds me, i place my work from time to time online to sell, and carry it with me to teaching venues across these states and throughout the world. i write these up and down words for you to read right here for free, because i am the sort of person who is open (to a fault) and because i like to share. there will surely be a fallout from this post: selfish me, to feel anger when violated, to feel narcissistic sadness when i think of losing my father, bit by bit by bit. shame on me. i have so much to be thankful for, i know this, believe me; i do. this is a glitch, a hiccup, a skip in the groove. i'll weather it, and move on at some point; i'll try to keep the frantic venting to a minimum, lest i offend someone by letting it be known how badly i feel. when crisis hits. grace is not my middle name, although it is what my first name means, or so i've read. there are always those who jump at the chance to chastise. have at it, i say. you will not be the first, nor will you ever be the last.
big sigh.
that's where i am, this sunny mother's day. the bags remain unpacked, the clothing grows wrinkled from being in a suitcase since, basically, valentine's day. i need to unpack so i can pack all over again. seasons have changed, the clothing is now inappropriate for warmer weather. prescriptions need to be filled while i am in town, grass that is a foot tall needs desperately to be cut. the dust that continues to gather in my absence has left a downy film on everything; level surfaces in this house are covered with things i can't bring myself to put away.
it's all just stuff, everything i have mentioned here today, except the big topic of loss and fathomless grief.
there is, i remind myself, the exquisite and tender beauty in all of this; one day i'll remember that, and be able to separate it from the sadness, when the mist has finally cleared. one day. xx
ps. on a much brighter note, look who has just shown up with a big grin on his face, a full gas can in the back of his truck, to cut these five acres of grass. there are sweethearts in this world, and i have one living right up the road from me. thank you, dave brown. thank you. xo
